Strangers in a Strange Land
by 96 Hubbles
Summary: When a mission goes wrong, the Heroes have deal with an unusual complication.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer haiku: _

_Owning is not mine_

_if people are known to you_

_Money does not come _

**Strangers in A Strange Land **

Peter Newkirk shifted his feet and wished for a drink; there was always something about a contact that kept them waiting that set him to gritting his teeth.

Crouched beside him in the bush where they were keeping watch on the small hidden clearing, Hogan barely twitched an eyelash, but Newkirk could sense the reprimand. Staying alert was demanded, but being distracted by impatience and frustration was not; in Hogan's opinion, a person was more apt to react badly or without thinking if they let themselves get annoyed, though how his CO could read Newkirk's mood from the merest budge to one side was a mystery to the Englishman.

Minutes ticked by. Fifteen. Twenty. Both men made small movements to stay loose, to keep their circulation going, but remained tense. Other nights, they might have risked a few whispered snatches of conversation with each other, or Hogan would have ordered them to separate and do a quick scout around in hopes of spotting the man they were waiting for, but not tonight. Newkirk didn't know what it was; he didn't sense anyone in the vicinity, but his shoulders felt weighed down and he had to force himself to stop holding his breath; being too tense could be just as dangerous as frustration.

Thirty minutes. Newkirk turned his head towards his CO to catch his eye before moving slowly and deliberately to whisper in his ear. "Whatcha ye reckon then, sir?"

Hogan replied just as softly, "Let's give it another ten minutes, then we'll head back."

"Think Carter's had any luck?"

"I hope so."

Newkirk looked closely at his CO; something in Hogan's voice… "Anything the matter, sir?" he asked the other man.

Hogan shrugged, but didn't take his eyes off the clearing. "There's something about this whole plan, Newkirk - it's too complicated for a simple pick up. I know Mother Hubbard is vouching for this guy, but I don't know if I like having a contact give us two _potential_ locations where he might meet us."

"Can't say as it's to my liking either, guv, but if there's any chance the man can stay where he is and keep passing on information - "

"I know, I know, it's too great a chance to pass up," Hogan agreed. "But we don't know enough about him. All we've got is some vague rumour of him being in some weapons development project. We don't even know for what." Hogan shook his head. "I tell you, if it was anything or anyone else…"

"You think he might be a grass for the Krauts?"

"Newkirk, it's nearly one am - don't talk British when I'm short on my beauty sleep."

"Sorry, guv, I meant - "

"It's all right, Newkirk, I wasn't serious," Hogan said. "I'm just cranky at having to take the half second to decipher it."

"But do you really think he might turn us in? Or that this could be a set-up?"

"Mother Hubbard seems to think the contact only knows us through reputation, and not enough to turn us in, but how much faith can we put in that? On the other hand, likely someone would've been here waiting to haul us off if he had. As for it being a set-up, it's strange, but I just don't get that feeling."

"So what's the bother then, sir?"

"I don't like so many unknowns and it's making me antsy. This guy tells Mother Hubbard he thinks the Gestapo is on his trail, but he isn't sure. If he's okay, he'll slip the information to Little Boy Blue at the hofbrau, and then Little Boy Blue will try to meet us here. But then this guy says if he's being followed, he'll hide the information somewhere so it's not found on him and then try to meet someone on the back road to Strasbourg and could we have someone at the checkpoint for him so he can pass on where he's hidden it. It sounded straightforward enough at the time, when I considered the possibility we could get lucky and end up with a permanent mole on whatever this top secret program is, but now I feel like we're either getting the runaround due to this guy's overactive imagination, or we've left ourselves with too many loose ends. Then, on top of everything else, he drags us out when there's a full moon yet!"

Newkirk said nothing. Truth be told, he was starting to get the same feeling. For a few minutes he contented himself with breathing deeply of the woods around him. Pine and cedar and moss made for a lovely smell in the air, he decided; nothing like that back home in London. _Right bloody shame to be wasting a beautiful night like this, secluded away with another bloke,_ he thought disgustedly. _Just my luck - soft breezes, moonlight… and the only blooming face around to kiss has a five o'clock shadow. Blimey!_

Newkirk saw Hogan squint to read his watch in the dim light, then watched as Hogan took a final glance in every direction. Then Hogan carefully stood and tapped Newkirk gently on his upper arm. "Come on, let's go and round up - " A distant crack cut him off and both men froze.

Newkirk stood, eyes wide. "Colonel, was that - " he started to ask, but Hogan was already striding hurriedly in the direction of the sound. He swiftly fell in behind his Colonel without another word as Hogan yanked his walkie talkie off his belt, yanked the antenna up and started calling for their missing team mate.

"Team 1 to Team 2, come in. Over. Team 1 to Team 2, come in. Over."

As alarming as the first crack had been, it was the sharp burst of the second shot that punched Newkirk's heart through his ribs - no question of what it was this time, none at all - and set both men off and running with a jolt like sprinters at the crack of a starter's pistol.

"Time 1 to Team 2, come in. Over." Peter Newkirk's heart started beating even faster as he listened to his commander's increasingly urgent requests. "Team 1 to Team 2, come in. Over. Team 1 to Team 2, come in. Over."

_He hasn't turned the blasted thing on yet, _Newkirk told himself. _It's not time for a check-in after all, and those bloody things can give off a lot of random noise. Wouldn't want the Jerries picking up on that, would he? _

"Team 1 to Team 2, come in. Over." Hogan's voice was more strained now.

_He's out of range. Absolute rubbish, these walkie talkies. _

"Team 1 to Team 2, come in. Over."

_It's nothing to do with him - he's still at the checkpoint, waiting for the contact._

But that thought went no way towards alleviating the tight, clenched feeling growing in Peter Newkirk's chest.

The trees began to thin out and Newkirk knew the road was up ahead. Hogan stopped running and held his arm out to slow Newkirk. Initial panic had made them foolish; they didn't know what they might be crashing their way into. Ducking their heads, they moved quickly behind a cover of bramble and some fallen branches.

"Do you see anything?" Hogan panted.

Newkirk did his best to look all around while still keeping his head down. "Nothing, Colonel," he breathed out heavily.

After a few more darting glances, they moved forward, going from tree to tree, still trying to spot anything. At Hogan's glance, Newkirk shook his head. "Could be further yet, guv. We don't know how far away the shot came from."

"Yeah. All right, keep your head down till we're past the road. Once we're across, we'll split up and do a sweep. "

Crouching low, they clambered up the small, barren slope towards the road. Just before their heads crested the top, they hunkered down to make one last check. When they realized that no noise met their ears and no telltale glow of a vehicle's headlamps could be seen coming in either direction, they rose as one and prepared to make their dash to the woods on the other side.

But as they came over the top, they were brought to a crashing halt by the sight of the two bodies laying less than thirty feet away.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in the nearly five years since he'd become a soldier, Peter Newkirk was stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't freeze, because there was no immediate awareness of fear, and he wasn't gaping because his mouth was closed.

He simply _stopped_.

Part of him was aware of Hogan dashing ahead of him, across and slightly down the grey, narrow stripe of the road and over to the nearer of the two bodies, but he simply stood there as if he couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. Lit as it was by the moon, the scene looked so stark and austere. Something in him seemed to tighten, and he reflexively took a deep breath as he dragged his feet a few slow, stunned steps in Hogan's direction.

Hogan however, had not paused for a second. "Newkirk, get the hell over here!" he hissed, one hand on the neck of the motionless form in the German guard's uniform. Newkirk shook his head to clear it and then snapped into a jog.

"What were you doing, just standing there?" Hogan demanded as Newkirk came over to squat beside him. "You're better than that."

"Sorry, sir," Newkirk said. "I don't know what came…" He got his first look at the man on the ground and his whole body slumped. "_Oh blimey,_" he whispered hoarsely.

It was Carter. It was easy to see his face - his helmet was on the ground a few feet behind him.

Hogan didn't comment; he was concentrating. Then Newkirk saw his CO's head drop for a moment, as if the other man were suddenly weak. "Thank God," he heard Hogan breathe out shakily.

"Is 'e alive?" Newkirk asked in wonder. He moved in to look closer. The shot couldn't have been more than five or ten minutes ago, yet there was already so much blood. So much in fact, that glistening nearly black in the darkness, at first glimpse it had fooled Newkirk into thinking part of Carter's skull was gone. _Just a trick of the shadows,_ Newkirk thought. The realization pushed a gust of relief out of him and his limbs felt a touch watery for a moment.

"Strewth! We need to stop that bleeding," Newkirk said. Gushing steadily down through Carter's hair, it already covered nearly all of the left side of his head and neck and was slowly pooling on the ground behind his ear.

"Yes, but not here," Hogan replied, all business now. "Help me get him up, then bring that one," he said, nodding his head towards the other victim. Newkirk got on the opposite side of Carter - the wounded side; he did his best not to grimace - and helped to lift and settle him in Hogan's arms. Once Hogan had his balance and had started stumbling his way towards the cover of the trees, Newkirk hurriedly went over to the other man.

This one hadn't been so lucky. The shot had hit him directly in the chest and the relatively small amount of blood Newkirk could see told him the man had likely been killed instantly. A general feeling of pity for this unknown man came over Newkirk, but did not affect his common sense. He was still out in the open and so, before he even thought of putting a finger to the man's jugular to affirm what he already knew, he hooked his arms under the poor man's arms and quickly dragged him backwards in a less than dainty manner towards the tree line where Hogan had gone.

"Dead?" Hogan's voice came from behind him, nearly causing Newkirk to jump.

" 'Fraid so, guv."

"Bring him over here and let's have a look at him," Hogan said. He lead Newkirk to a spot where the ground dipped down a bit. Carter was laying a few feet away, his head resting on a bed of moss.

" 'Ow's Carter?"

"Hasn't twitched a muscle yet, but he's still breathing."

Newkirk gently eased the body in his arms down to the ground. "You want me to search him, Colonel?" he asked, gesturing to the unknown man.

"I'll do it. You take a look at Carter. You've got a bit more experience with first aid than I do."

"Should we risk using our torches?" Newkirk's mouth twisted wryly at the way Hogan's eyes narrowed, though he suspected his reaction was more from tension than from finding his CO's look funny. "Sorry, _flashlights_. Should we risk using our _flashlights_?"

"Yeah, but let's keep it short."

Carter's face only looked more frightening in the beam of light - pale and clammy and too blasted still for Newkirk's comfort. He got down on his stomach beside his friend and propped himself up on his elbows right next to Carter's head. With a clean hankie pulled out from where he kept it tucked just under his shirt cuff - a habit picked up as a child from his Gran - he sponged cautiously at the ugly gash in Carter's head in an attempt to slow down the worst of the flow while at the same time trying to make out the extent of the damage.

"Dropped yourself into it good and proper this time, didn't you mate?" he whispered gently to his friend as he probed his fingers near the wound. "Hunh…Caught you right under the helmet by the looks of it. Starts a bit lower here, see, then rises a bit. Just missed your ear." Why Carter would want to know that, even if the man had been awake, was something Newkirk never considered.

"Must've been a short bloke, by the looks of it," he rambled on. He sat up and patted himself down looking for a bandage. "Doesn't look too deep, mind," he continued. "That's a piece of luck. Might 'ave a strange part in your hair for a bit, but nothing too serious." He located a small bandage roll and pulled it out of one pocket, then started rummaging again trying to locate his spare handkerchief. His Gran had always said to carry two in case of _accidents_; he momentarily pondered whether this was the sort of thing that had ever crossed her mind.

"Yes, yes, I know - where'd you go to medical school, Dr. Newkirk? Well, I'll just have you know, me old son, I've wrapped up _plenty_ of broken heads in my time. The trapeze act what we had in the circus wasn't worth the ropes they swung on and the 'igh-wire act were a little too fond of the drink, if you catch my meaning. Made for some rather disastrous Saturday matinees I can tell you."

"Nothing…absolutely nothing," Newkirk heard Hogan mutter to himself, still rifling through the dead man's pockets.

"Ah! There we are," Newkirk said, finally managing to find his other hankie. "Well Andrew, mate, I'd best see to bandaging you up, hadn't I? The guv doesn't seem to be having the best of luck and I expect he'll want us to be on our way in a moment." He raised his head in his CO's direction, "Colonel, you got either of these?" he asked, waving both the hankie and the bandage roll.

Hogan stopped what he was doing and searched himself for a moment. He didn't have any bandages on him - and Newkirk heard him mutter a curse under his breath about going out unprepared - but he dug up a handkerchief and passed it to Newkirk. After cleaning the wound as best he could with water from a small canteen, Newkirk folded both hankies into squares, placed them against Carter's wound and then deftly wove the bandage around his friend's head.

"Colonel, you don't think… well, you don't think Andrew and this bloke shot each other, do you?" Newkirk asked quietly as he worked. "That's not to say I think Andrew would panic, mind you, but he is wearing a German uniform. What if this 'ere bloke pulled a weapon on 'im and he shot in self-defence?"

"You didn't notice how they were lying on the ground?" Hogan asked as, his search done, he stepped past them to go and stand a little higher up the slope in order to keep a better watch.

"What's that to do with anything?"

"They were both facing in the same direction, Newkirk - meaning they were both looking at something in front of them. And judging by their positions, Carter was a few feet _behind_."

Busy with what he was doing, Newkirk missed the point. "Sorry guv, but what exactly are you getting at?"

"Think about it: the guy was shot in the chest, so whoever did it had to be in front of him. It couldn't have been Carter," Hogan explained distractedly, his eyes not on them but steadily focused on his sweep of the area. "You done?"

"Near about." Newkirk made a final loop of the bandage and then awkwardly tied it off on the uninjured side of Carter's head. "There! Not what you'd call a dainty job, but it should do the trick."

"Do you think he'll be all right if we carry him back to camp?"

Newkirk felt Carter's skin and checked his pulse. He looked up at his CO. "Blimey Colonel, I don't know." He was no medic, let alone a doctor, but the idea struck him as dangerous. "Shifting 'im may not be the best thing for him right now, sir. Heaven only knows what we might shake loose in 'is head lugging 'im about half the night. Besides, what are we do with that poor blighter?" he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the dead man.

"We can't do anything for him now; Carter's who we need to worry about. I'd like to get the man's body home too, but it'll have to wait. "

"Home?"

"He's not the agent."

"Didn't think 'e was, not in that uniform." A British flyer's uniform - in fact, it was identical to the one he himself wore daily - didn't strike Newkirk as the thing an escaping agent would try to make his way across Germany in.

"I know, but I was hoping for _some_ kind of break tonight. However, it looks like he's your run of the mill airman. His clothes are singed in a few places and torn in a few more - he must have lost his flight suit when he was shot down. My guess is it was during that air raid last week and he's been living rough this whole time. Who knows, maybe he was even on his way to us."

"Did 'e have an identity disc?"

"I got it. Says his name was Ernie Greenslade."

"Flippin' heck, I know some Greenslades!" Newkirk peered down at the man with more curiosity now. "Poor sod. Wonder if he's any relation?"

"I hope not, for their sake. But that doesn't solve our immediate problem."

"One of us could go for help, sir. It's only just gone half one, time enough for one of us to get back to camp and back."

"And tell Klink what? That our meeting with a contact went awry and would he mind awfully if we borrowed a truck?"

"We've done it before. Borrowed a truck from the motor pool, I mean."

"Not from Rabid Richter, and not at 1:30 in the morning."

"Oh blimey, not him!" Newkirk's grousing sparked with sharp frustration. "I tell you, that one wants sorting out, and right quick! We won't even be able to get a child's tricycle out with him running the place. Probably took prat lessons from Hitler 'imself, the blooming little weasel."

"One disaster at a time, Newkirk. Let's get out of this first, before we start rearranging the Krauts' duty roster."

"Couldn't you tell old Klink Andrew and I were trying to escape, then just tip Schultz the wink on 'is way out?"

"Carter's guard outfit could be explained as a disguise, but what about what you're wearing? How do I explain the black clothes and the face covered in grease paint? They're not exactly your typical escaping POW's choice of attire when it comes to blending in with German civilians, now are they?"

"Throw in a spare uniform and a washcloth and I'll change on the way back," Newkirk urged. "Old Schultzie won't blink."

"Trouble is, he won't be alone, remember? Klink doesn't send guards out on their own any more ever since that guard from Stalag 7 was shot last month when the prisoner he was with got his rifle away from him. Which also means Klink won't be letting me out with Schultz, either."

"All right, so what if we don't let the Jerries in on it? One of us goes and comes back 'ere with the others and a stretcher. I know we'd still be carrying Andrew, but it'd have to be a smoother ride for 'im."

Hogan considered it a moment. "It's a possibility, but I don't like us being split up for so long. It's at least forty-five minutes back to camp, and then roughly another hour to round up what we'd need and get back here. Carter and whoever stayed with him would be completely vulnerable all that time. "

"Sir, we can't run from the Germans if we're busy lugging him about. And I don't mind staying, guv. You just point us to a bit of cover and I'll look after 'im."

"What if whoever shot them comes back?"

"Why would 'e do something like that? Either the bugger got scared and did a bunk, or 'e didn't give a toss."

Hogan chuckled.

"Wot'd I say?"

"Are you aware your accent gets thicker at night?"

Newkirk snorted. "And here I was thinking you were the one what talks funny."

The right side of Hogan's mouth quirked up and he snorted lightly. "Ear of the beholder, is that it?" Then he sighed and his glance turned back to his fallen sergeant. "Well, we can't hang around here all night. We'll have to move him somewhere. The way our luck's going, whoever shot the two of them only took off to round up the cavalry. What I'm worried though, is that even if we found good cover, it'd still be worse for Carter for us to keep him out here any longer than we have to. Even with him slowing us down, we'd still get home quicker carrying him between us."

Newkirk considered their options. "Sir, there's nothing else for it. Neither one of us can carry him in our arms the entire way. Not through this terrain; we might drop him. If we carry him over our shoulders, then 'is head is hanging down and all 'is blood will be rushing to it and heaven knows what trouble that might cause. And it's too hard going for us to carry him together, facing each other that is." He looked down at his prone friend. "The best way would be if one of us took 'is legs and the other one grabbed him round the chest, but then that'll push head forward. Could make it harder for 'im to breathe if he takes a turn for the worse. Any way you look at it, guv - "

Hogan held up a hand, resigned. "I get the picture, Newkirk. But I'll stay, you get going. I'll make for that clump of trees," he said, pointing out the direction. "That should be well enough off the road. If a search party gets too close, I'll hide Carter as best I can and then try to lead them away. If you don't find me, get Carter back to camp."

"Sir…"

"If someone is going to stay, it's going to be me, Newkirk."

"If I may, sir, you're the one to talk rings 'round old Klink. You're the one to make sure he 'as Carter to the doctor's. And _if _something bad happens, and we're caught, you're the one to come up with a plan to get us free."

"Newkirk…" Hogan began with a definite tone of warning, but Newkirk ignored him, "Besides, you said it yourself: I'm the better one at first aid." _Nevermind I've already done everything I know to do,_ he thought ruefully.

"Look Newkirk, I get what you're saying, and it's a good argument, but until Carter wakes up and can move under his own power, someone needs to protect him. And if the Krauts do come, then _that_ is going to be the sticky job."

A frustrated Newkirk glanced around him, as if a last-ditch argument could be found written amongst the trees. His CO had a point, he knew, but he still didn't have to like it.

As it turned out however, the answer wasn't in the trees, it was in the sight of a familiar rocky outcrop just above them.

"Sir, we're only a 'alf mile or so from the old stone bridge near the Germans' new transmitting tower!"

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "So what? You think we should blow up the tower on the way?"

"Blimey, guv, there's no call to be facetious. I mean the old stone bridge is handy to Dietrich Heidemann's place. I reckon it's only a quarter mile west from there. Wouldn't take 'alf a tick for one of us to nip over there, then be back with old Heidemann's car."

"Right," Hogan said. "Get going, Corporal."

Newkirk knew further arguing about who was to stay and who was to go was pointless. He took off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Dietrich Heidemann was still awake when he heard the tap at his study window. That was what age and solitude did to a man, he reflected often. With no appointments to keep and no job to provide daily contact with others, a body seemed to naturally fall out of synchronization with society's normal-given rhythms, insuring the few hours of sleep he did get anymore never came when he desired them.

However, that didn't mean that catching the sudden fleeting movement of someone skulking around just outside his small house didn't startle him badly. After a heart-stopping gasp, he jumped for the hearth and grabbed the poker so quick the stand it sat in fell with a clatter. A second later a grinning face abruptly loomed and pressed itself up against the bottom pane, glowing yellow and eerie in the light of his table lamp, and instinctively he swung the poker up to strike - completely forgetting that he was _inside_ - before he realized he recognized it. The would-be house-breaker just grinned and waved a hand for him to open his back door.

"Blimey, you're a jumpy sort for a big bloke!" the apparition greeted him when he swung the door open and pulled the man inside.

"For goodness sake, Corporal, you gave me the fright of my life just then! Why didn't you simply knock at the door?" Heidemann asked.

"I needed to be sure you were alone," Newkirk replied. "What's with the poker, mate? About to give me what for, were yeh?"

Heidemann grimaced and put the thing down. "What's happened?" he asked.

The cheeky look dropped from Newkirk's face. "Carter's been shot," he told Heidemann. "We need your car to get back to camp."

"My God!" Heidemann exclaimed. "Of course. Do you need anything else?" he asked as he grabbed his coat to follow Newkirk out.

"Blanket or two wouldn't go amiss - the guv's a little concerned 'bout shock."

Heidemann nodded and strode into the room on his left, returning with a thick wool blanket. "Were you able to bandage the wound?" he asked Newkirk as they went out the door.

Newkirk nodded. "Should do till Wilson can see to 'im. C'mon now, Colonel Hogan'll be wondering where I got to."

_--x--_

The drive was short but tense, with Newkirk peering anxiously out the windscreen of Heidemann's old Opel the whole time, afraid of missing the spot on the road which lead to where he'd left his friends. Heidemann meanwhile, was cursing his decreasing night vision and hoping both that he didn't drive into anything with only the dimmed headlamps on and that he had enough petrol to get wherever they were going.

"There!" Newkirk suddenly snapped harshly, "Stop there!" Heidemann pulled over and wondered what made this spot any different from the rest of the view along the road. Newkirk got out quickly and, as Heidemann got out himself, making sure to grab the blanket and turn off the lights, he saw Newkirk pick up something that was lying on the road. As he watched the other man run his hand inside of what looked like a bowl.

"Blimey…" Newkirk breathed out in a soft hush.

"What is it, Corporal?"

"Carter's helmet," Newkirk answered without looking up. "Must've undid the chin strap; 'e said it'd been bothering 'im."

Heidemann stepped over to him and Newkirk passed him the helmet with a strange expression on his face. Curious, Heidemann ran his own fingertips over the inside. It was slightly sticky to the touch. Squinting closer, he could just make out that it was speckled with a light spray of what he presumed was blood. At the back, near the top, a bullet was lodged, penetrating out the other side about a quarter of an inch. Heidemann looked up at Newkirk; the Englishman had described Carter's injury to him. _The shot blew the helmet right off, _he realized_. _ "If that strap had been done up…" he started to say.

"Right," was all Newkirk said in response.

"What must the odds on such a thing be?" Heidemann marvelled.

Newkirk grimaced. "Doesn't bear thinking about. And I don't suppose it matters much now, any road," he said. "Follow me - the Colonel's got him over this way."

"Newkirk found his way there all right, I see," Hogan said to Heidemann a few minutes later when they came upon the stranded little party.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack sneaking up to my window like he did."

"He knows enough to make sure you didn't have any unwanted visitors."

"Just who in the world did the two of you think I might be entertaining at this hour of a night time?" Heidemann asked as he offered up the blanket.

"Fellow bird-watcher come to dinner perhaps," Newkirk suggested. "Andrew told us this one time 'bout how you chatted for over three hours at 'im concerning the history of the dodo."

Heidemann chuckled. "I had to - I can't believe anyone else would have been polite enough to listen for so long."

"Can it will ya, you two?" Hogan growled. "The only thing I want to know about the dodo is how to get past the one who runs our prison camp." He flung the blanket out over the ground. "Now help me with Carter."

It was then that Heidemann spotted something else. "Colonel Hogan - " he began, but Hogan cut him off.

"Carter first," Hogan ordered. The older man let it pass, the American's voice telling him all that he needed to know.

The unconscious man was lifted onto the blanket as gently as if he were made of the most delicate china. Then the three men each took a hold of the improvised stretcher and, together, slowly stood and made their way to Heidemann's waiting vehicle.

Newkirk was at the front of the procession. Carefully he released one hand to open the car's back door, then, after easing his part of the their burden over to the other two, he climbed in to help manoeuvre Carter next to him on the seat.

"You got him all right, Newkirk?" Hogan grunted.

"We're fine, Colonel," Newkirk reassured Hogan while settling Carter's head against him. He put one arm around Carter's shoulders and with his other hand he tried to pull the blanket closer around his friend without jostling him. "Colonel? What are we going to do about that other poor beggar?"

Hogan, half in and half out of the car and awkwardly fussing with Carter's blanket nearly as much as Newkirk, glanced back to where they had left the body of Corporal Ernie Greenslade.

"Damnit, we'll have to put him in the trunk," Hogan realized with horror.

"Blimey, Colonel, couldn't we prop 'im up 'ere on the seat or somethin'? Or put 'im on the floor somehow?"

"I want the three of us here in the back where it's dark. I'm hoping we don't run into anyone, but the less people can see of us the better."

"The front then."

"That's even worse, Newkirk. The man's wearing RAF blue and has got a hole in his chest, for God's sake!" Hogan snapped, but Newkirk saw the man's shoulders slump all of a sudden, and he could tell that his CO wasn't truly angry at him. "Sorry, Newkirk. It's just that the idea of shoving the man into…hell, it's just…you know." Hogan sighed and shook his head tiredly. "But it'll be safer for all of us. After Heidemann drops us off, he'll have to take the body somewhere, and it's gonna be better for him if it's as out of sight as possible. But look, Heidemann and I will deal with this. If this guy is a relative of your friends, I don't want you to have to tell them you helped stuff his body into a trunk like some kind of damn gangster. So you stay put and watch over Carter, okay?"

"Right-ho, guv," Newkirk agreed quietly. "Not to worry - ol' Andrew'll keep all right with me while you're gone. Just…" _Just what? _he wondered. _What can I say?_

"We'll be back in a few minutes," Hogan said, but he gave Newkirk a small nod to show he understood.

"There now, you and me, we'll just sit 'ere nice and quiet like, won't we, mate," Newkirk said to Carter after he saw Hogan and Heidemann swiftly disappear back into the woods. " 'Less of course you want to start talkin' and let your old chum Peter know you're all right. How about that tornado story you were on about last week? Please me no end to hear it about now. Or you could tell me again 'bout that gent you saw in Hamelburg the other night - you know, the one sporting the cape what you said looked like Bela Lugoisi. How would that suit you?"

Nothing.

"Well, that's all right, then. You keep quiet if you want to," Newkirk continued on, his voice as nonchalant as if he were merely telling Carter it was fine to stay in bed when down with a case of the sniffles, but for a second his brow furrowed and he had to clench his jaw slightly to hold himself together. He squeezed Carter's shoulder. "Poor sod, bet you've got a bloody great headache and all, don't you?"

Newkirk peered out the window over Carter's head, unconsciously peering around, hoping to spot the others like an anxious child abandoned at a train station.

"I think you should wake up now, mate," Newkirk started up again a few moments later, the suddenly unbearable silence driving him into rabbiting on like Carter at his best. "I mean, I'm not bothered either way - sleep if you want to. Only, you do realize people'll get to calling you a lay-about if you don't get back to work soon. That's all I'm saying. 'That ruddy Carter's bone-bloody-idle,' they'll go. Can't say as how that'll do much for your reputation. So there, don't you think you'd best wake up then, mate? You don't want to get people to talking, after all."

His only answer was the unchanging note of Carter's breathing.

"And the worry's not doing the Colonel much good either, is it now? He don't cut up rough like 'e did less the situation is getting to 'im, you know that. Do 'im a right world of good if I could tell 'im when he gets back that you were waking up. What do you say to that, eh?"

But there was no answer for him; not then, not when Hogan and Heidemann returned and bent to the awful task of putting what was once a human being into the trunk of the car, not when the task was done and Hogan climbed in to sit on the other side of the silent man and the group started off, not when some little time later the car stopped close by the emergency tunnel entrance. And not even when the wounded man was lifted and lowered into the tunnel, with Kinch and Lebeau and later Wilson all clamouring around him, and then finally lifted up again and into the barracks, did Peter's friend give him any sign that he had heard him.

_--x--_

The only answer they could come to later was that a case of schnapps must have made it's way through the guards' hut before they came on duty. It was the only way to explain how the general hubbub of their arrival - with its shocked exclamations and questions, the confusion of seeing to Carter amidst the clutter of too many concerned but useless and in the way people, interspersed with shouted orders for a green-around-the-gills Lebeau to go for Wilson before he fainted, tunnel openings and closings, and all overridden by each man in the barracks' ironic exhortations to the others to "keep it down" - didn't attract every guard in the camp.

But the flurried rush of noise petered out quickly (just before an irritable Hogan could decide on dressing them down the first chance he got), and Lebeau was back with Wilson in record speed.

The medic asked no questions once he saw the blood-soaked bandage wrapped around Carter's head, and with the patient laid out on the main table, the rest of the barracks fell completely silent as he cut the bandage off and examined the wound.

After a geologic age passed in which no one breathed while Wilson squatted and probed at the wound, the medic startled them all by suddenly giving a sharp whistle and then laughing with joy. _"Hollleee cow!" _he said, drawing out the words in a burst of wonder.

"What? What is it?" Hogan demanded.

Wilson looked up with a grin. "There's no skull fracture. Not even a crack, least as far as I can tell."

"But what about all the blood?" Kinch asked.

"Even less serious head wounds tend to bleed a lot," Wilson explained, eyes back on the patient once more. "Has to do with all the blood vessels going to the brain."

"Are you kidding?" a disbelieving Hogan asked. "I mean, about Carter's being okay."

"Nope. I won't give you any guarantees, so don't go nuts - head wounds are tricky and dangerous at the best of times, and I'd feel a whole lot better if you talked Klink into getting Carter to the hospital for an x-ray, but from what I can tell the bullet went into the flesh but only skimmed along the line of the skull. Poor guy's likely gonna have one whopper of a bad headache, and this wound will need some stitching, plus he's lost a fair bit of blood, but Colonel, you guys must have a whole stash of rabbits' feet somewhere because I think we sure as hell got lucky this time!"

Hogan sat down heavily and began to chuckle. "Wilson, I could kiss you! That's the best damn news I've heard tonight!" The others all started to chatter amongst each other, sharing their CO's relief.

"Glad I could ease your mind," Wilson told Hogan. "Now you've just got to think of a story to tell the guards if they come in here while I'm sewing him up."

_--x--_

The barracks was dark except for the glowing red dot of Newkirk's cigarette. Like everyone else - or nearly everyone else; Lebeau hadn't been able to bring himself to look and so had gone into the Colonel's private quarters to wait - Newkirk had sat on his bunk, craning his neck in total silence for over half an hour in order to watch Wilson as he worked. For all of the medic's show of relief, he still couldn't help but worry - if it was just a bit of torn skin, why hadn't Carter woken up yet, he asked himself.

After Wilson was done and had re-wrapped Carter's head in a new bandage, the injured man was brought into Hogan's quarters and laid on the lower bunk, where Lebeau covered him with an extra blanket and pulled the Colonel's chair over to sit watch over him. It wasn't even a question in the Frenchman's mind who should take the first shift; his Colonel would need to confer with Kinch and Newkirk should get some sleep.

Hogan agreed. He only said a bleary, "Thanks, Louie," and ushered the other two out with a wave of his hands, following right behind them. Hogan then commanded Newkirk to turn in. A pointless order if ever Peter had heard one, but he understood Hogan's reasoning: they were both frazzled and Hogan no doubt hoped at least one of them would be able to get some rest, and heaven only knew it wasn't going to be him - not with Carter shot and only a few hours to go before he'd have to explain it to Klink. Even Wilson hadn't bothered to tell his CO anything more than, "Try to grab a little rest if you possibly can."

However, a frustrating hour later, Newkirk gave up even the pretence of sleep as a bad job and had been smoking for about thirty minutes more when the door to Hogan's quarters creaked open. Newkirk watched silently from where he was sitting on his bunk as a small dark shape tiptoed over to where Kinch had lain down after reporting his conversation with the underground to Hogan. The shape tapped the larger man on the shoulder and Newkirk heard the two exchange a few hushed murmurs, then Kinch went into Hogan's room and the small form padded its way softly over to him.

"Newkirk? How are you, mon ami?" Lebeau asked in that hushed half-whisper exclusive to the early hours of the morning.

"I'm all right. How's Carter?"

"He is stirring a bit. Wilson said that is a good sign."

Newkirk slumped back against the barracks wall with relief. "What about the Colonel?"

"He is lying down on his bunk, but he won't sleep."

"Can't, more like," Newkirk commented.

Lebeau sniffed with annoyance. "He does not even try."

"Typical." _Bloody mule_, Newkirk thought, but not unkindly. "What about roll call? Has he got a plan for what we're to tell Klink?"

"His plan is to tell them Carter fell off the table while changing the light bulb and hit his head against the stove," Lebeau explained.

Newkirk snorted and shook his head: _The stories we risk our lives on… If anyone had told me before the war I'd be doing something like this I'd have rung Colney Hatch to come round and collect them. _"Might fool Schultzie and the Bald Eagle," he said out loud, "but I don't know if I'd bank on a proper doctor buying it. What happens if we need to 'ave Carter to the hospital?"

Lebeau reached up and patted him on the knee. "Hopefully it will not come to that. We will see what happens in the morning."

Newkirk took another aimless drag on his cigarette. "You after some help with breakfast?" he asked when he looked down and noticed Lebeau was simply standing there.

Lebeau shook himself out of his own reverie. "Non. It is too early; I do not wish to wake the others. I think I will rest on my bunk for a little while."

Newkirk nodded. "You do that, mate."

"Try and get some rest yourself, Newkirk," his friend urged. "Colonel Hogan will need us in the morning."

"Bit of lost cause, I'm afraid," Newkirk said with a wan smile. "But I'll be fine. I'll kip in the tunnels for a bit tomorrow. Once Carter wakes up. Once he can tell us about the contact, that is," he quickly added.

"Oui, once Carter tells us about the contact," Lebeau agreed, "then mon colonel will know what to do." It was easy for Lebeau to see what was really worrying Newkirk, but he didn't say anything. It had only been a couple of hours, after all; it was too early to even think about really worrying - it would be like giving up.

"Just like Carter to keep us 'anging about half the night," Newkirk said as he took one last puff and then stubbed out his cigarette.

Lebeau played along. "What else is to be expected from Americans?" he said. "But even they cannot sleep through Schultzie barging his way in here at roll call. Carter may be hurt, but he will wake up like everyone else at the sounds of a bellowing hippopotamus!"

Newkirk chuckled, wearily perhaps but genuinely. "A useful Kraut! Whatever is this war coming to?"

* * *

_Hi there, sorry for the delay but they offered overtime at work and, considering the economic sinkhole we've all blundered into, I figured I should take it. However, if you feel I need to be punished, let me just tell you that it's bloody SNOWING here today!! And I don't mean one or two freak random flakes either - there's a whole flurry of them coming down!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

Colonel Wilhelm Klink raised his head from his examination of the prone sergeant who was holding up his orderly roll call. "This is a trick, Hogan!"

"Of course it is, Kommandant. That's how I get my kicks: pushing my men off tables in hopes that they'll crack their skulls and get me a visit from you. I mean, what _else_ could I possibly get out of it?" Robert Hogan commented with no little asperity.

"What is your game, Hogan? You are disrupting roll call. Is it because there is something you do not wish me to see?" There was something about this, Klink felt, but he could not tell what… He turned to his head guard. "Schultz!"

Schultz snapped to attention. "Ja, Herr Kommandant?"

"Count the men in the barracks again, and tell the guards to retake the roll call in every barracks. Make absolutely sure every prisoner is present."

Schultz saluted, "Ja, Herr Kommandant," and exited immediately. Personally, he did not believe the prisoners were up to any monkey business - they were acting all wrong for that - but then, if there was no monkey business, there was no harm in re-doing the roll call, he reasoned.

Klink stayed and continued to question Hogan. His expression changed from irritated to smug. "Do you really think you can fool me, Hogan? I'm aware of all of your petty little schemes," he chuckled, shaking his riding crop casually, mere inches from the American officer's chest. "This little story of yours, no doubt it was to hide the fact that Sergeant Carter was trying to escape!"

Hogan took a deep breath; dealing with Klink's superior act and clumsy attempt to bluff was getting under his skin like a swarm of belligerently determined mosquitoes. "Sir," he explained slowly, "if Carter was hurt while escaping, why would he be here and not laying out in the woods somewhere?"

"Do you think I am foolish, Colonel Hogan?"

"Do you really want to know?" Hogan asked. Inwardly he winced - _ouch, watch it_, _you need him right now,_ he cautioned himself - but he didn't let it shake his outward composure for a second.

"Hogan!" Klink warned, shaking the fist clutching his crop at the American. "I am in charge of this camp! I will not be spoken to in this way!"

"Sorry, Kommandant."

"I say Sergeant Carter was injured last night while trying to dig a tunnel - "

"A tunnel! Are you kidding? How would we dig a tunnel under the eagle eyes of the toughest Kommandant in all of Germany?" Unfortunately for him, it came out a little more sarcastic than it should have.

"Aha! Don't think I buy your surprised act for one minute, Hogan!" Klink gloated. Smiling again, he strutted a few steps around Hogan's small quarters, his gaze darting everywhere. It required an almost super-human effort on Hogan's part not to roll his eyes; the pinch-faced German looked remarkably like a chicken when he walked like that. "Where is it, Hogan?" Klink went on. "Perhaps it is here, ja? Perhaps Carter is not injured at all, but only pretending so, in order to cover the entrance?"

"What?" Hogan asked. "Colonel Klink, who would build a tunnel under a bunk frame that's nailed to the floor? Even if someone could squeeze under there, it would slow down the whole escape line!"

"You cannot fool me, Hogan. That is just what you want me to think!" he said, gleefully waggling his finger at Hogan this time. "I know all your little tricks - you want me to think no one would put a tunnel here, but you see, I know something you do not think I know!"

_Can you narrow that down a tad? What I think you don't know could fill a warehouse_, Hogan thought to himself.

"I know the worst place for a tunnel entrance is truly the best place for one, because _that_ is where no one will look!" Klink exclaimed. "And I will prove it!" With that, Hogan watched amazed as Klink got down on all fours and stuck his head and shoulders under the bunk Carter was lying on. Too busy scrabbling a hand around on the floor beneath the injured man, Kommandant Wilhelm Klink was probably unaware of the tempting target he presented to a smiling Hogan, who bit his lip and raised his eyes heavenward and pleaded, _Please, just once! Let me get in just one swift kick, right in the behind, before the war is out! Because you're killing me here!_

However, what Wilhelm Klink was _most certainly_ unaware of was Schultz's coming to the door - at least until the guard slammed it and caused him to bang his head violently on the underside of the bottom bunk in surprise.

_That's almost as good_, Hogan thought with a smirk.

Klink yelled "Schhhuulltz!" while the horrified man in question frantically began to sputter, "I am _so sorry_, Herr Kommandant!" but both were stopped by a low moan.

"Uunnnhhhhh."

Hogan hurried over, getting in front of Klink to bend over his sergeant. "Carter? Carter, can you hear me?" he asked gently.

Carter's eyelids fluttered open just enough for a slit of white to show. Enough so that Hogan could see them roll slowly to the side, as if Carter were dreaming.

"Nuhhh…?"

Hogan patted him on the arm. "Easy, Andrew. Everything's all right. You're safe."

"Kiddlerye?"

Hogan leaned closed. "What was that, Carter?"

"Izza kiddle rye?" Carter slurred.

"Sure, sure, Carter," Hogan said, patting the man's arm again. "Why don't you go back to sleep now?"

"What did he say?" Schultz asked.

"I have absolutely no idea," Hogan admitted.

"Hmphf," Klink huffed. "I still say this is one of your tricks, Hogan."

Hogan pointed to the neckline of Carter's long-sleeved undershirt. "For Pete's sake, Kommandant, you can see the blood right there!" But at Hogan's shout, Carter winced and tried to roll his head away from the noise, only to cry out pitifully when the injured side came in contact with the bunk. "Geez, I'm sorry Andrew," Hogan hissed quickly in apology. He turned back to Klink. "Can we take this outside, Kommandant?"

"Oh very well, Hogan."

"I'd like one of the men to come in and sit with Carter. And I'd like Wilson to come take a look at him, if you don't mind."

Klink absently waved his hand. "Yes, yes, fine. Schultz will see to it."

Schultz saluted, "Ja, Herr Kommandant," and went out to the compound where the men were still standing in formation. A second later Newkirk scooted through the door and Hogan and Klink then went into the main room of the barracks.

"There are only a few drops of blood on Carter's shirt. Why is there not more?" Klink asked.

"He was wearing his flight suit at the time. I guess only a bit seeped through."

"I want to see this flight suit."

"Lebeau already put it in to soak."

"Very convenient, Hogan."

"Lebeau didn't think so. Who wants to do laundry at five in the morning?"

"And just what was Sergeant Carter doing changing a light bulb at such an early time of day? You prisoners are always pestering me to push back roll call - maybe it is not beauty sleep you want, but more time to dig tunnels!"

"Sure, Kommandant, like the one under my bunk."

Klink's eyes narrowed as he glared at the American, but at that moment Sergeant Wilson came in. Hogan jerked his head towards his personal quarters. "In there, Wilson."

"Right," was all Wilson said as he edged around the two men, one curious eye lingering for a moment on his CO as he passed him.

Once the door shut behind the medic, Klink started up again without wasting a beat. "Hoooogan! You will tell me now: why was Carter on the table fixing the light so early in the morning?"

_Because Schultz knows that Carter was fine last night when he checked and so I told you this_, Hogan thought. "I couldn't tell you," was what came out of his mouth, however. "But the bulb didn't burn out until just before lights out, so we figured we'd leave it till we got up. Maybe Carter couldn't sleep and thought to help out. You know, change the light so the guys wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark as they got dressed for roll call. You said it yourself once: he's a very thoughtful man."

"Why did Corporal Lebeau start doing laundry instead of helping Carter?"

"He did help Carter! What kind of people do you think we are? We all took care of Carter, but then once he was in bed, Lebeau was up and so he thought he'd do something useful to keep himself from worrying."

"In that case, Hogan, why didn't he wash Carter's undershirt?"

"We didn't want to risk pulling it over Carter's head. Besides, he's only got the one - it's not like there's a lot of opportunities for shopping excursions here at Castle Enchantment, after all - and we didn't want him to get cold."

Klink paced a few steps back and forth in front of Hogan. Suddenly he whipped around for what Hogan was sure was intentionally dramatic effect. "What about Sergeant Wilson, eh Hogan?" Klink demanded, with a 'I've got you now!' smirk twisted on his face and the gleeful pointing finger back again. "Why didn't you ask the guard to get him when Carter fell, instead of assigning men to do laundry?"

Hogan sighed wearily; he obviously couldn't say that Wilson _had_ been in Barracks 2 most of the night so here was the need for yet another lie. "Because we didn't think it was that bad," he said. "It was only an hour to roll call and Newkirk said he could handle it till then. We figured what Carter needed most was rest and so we didn't want to do anything to wake him up. We only bothered to tell Schultz because Carter was still in no shape to make it outside this morning."

Klink drew back, stymied for the moment. Then he snapped his fingers. "The guards did not hear anything! What do you say to that, Hogan? Explain that to me! Explain to me how a man can fall against a stove from on top of a table without making enough noise to alert the guards."

"How should I know, Kommandant? Likely they were sleeping on the job again. You know how hard it is to find good help these days."

"That is true. I try and try to make Berlin understand that I must have better men to maintain my perfect record, but they - _HOGAN! This is irrelevant!"_

Hogan shrugged. "I'm sorry, Kommandant, but what else can I tell you?"

"Nothing, Hogan. I am tired of listening to all of your ridiculous explanations. You are dismissed."

"Sir, we're in _my_ barracks."

"That is unimportant," Klink said, peevish at making a foolish mistake in front of his adversary. "What I meant to say is that you and your men are all confined to barracks for the rest of the week."

"That's great, Kommandant! It'll give us more time to finish the tunnel."

Even Hogan himself was surprised at the exact shade of purple Klink's face went.

_--x--_

With Klink's departure, Hogan quickly went back to his quarters.

"Was that Klink who banged the door like that?" Newkirk asked. He was sitting at the table to give Wilson room.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Wouldn't want that old sod round any hospitals then. Doesn't he 'ave the sense to know you're supposed to be quiet around sick people?"

"Klink and sense are not two words that come together naturally. Did it bother Carter?"

Before Newkirk could answer Kinch and Lebeau trooped in. "How's he doing?" Kinch asked.

Wilson straightened up with a groan. "These bunks could be higher, you know."

"I'll tell Klink when his blood pressure goes back down to simple volcanic levels. What's the verdict?" Hogan asked.

Schultz lumbered in and again Hogan was interrupted before he could get an answer. _I can't imagine why anyone calls these 'private' quarters, _he complained to himself.

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz boomed in excitement.

"Flipping heck, Schultzie, keep it down," Newkirk shushed him urgently. "Someday someone's going to 'ave to set about teaching these bloody Germans how to be quiet," he whispered to Lebeau, who nodded and shot a look of disgust towards the big man.

"What is it, Sch…" Hogan started, then took a surprised look at the German. "Schultzie, have you gained weight in the last fifteen minutes?"

"Nein," Schutlz said and began to unbutton his overcoat. "I have a brought a pillow for Carter." When his coat was half undone, they could see the thin white padded item poking out from underneath. "It is from the guard's quarters," Schultz explained as he yanked it out. "I had to hide it so the Kommandant would not see and get upset."

"Why, Schultzie, that was really nice of you!" Hogan said, genuinely touched. "That'll be a big help for Carter." The others agreed and rushed to pat the big man on the back. Lebeau promised to make him some apple strudel at the very next opportunity.

"How is Carter?" Schultz asked.

"He's coming round, but slowly," Wilson answered. " Someone should sit with him; he'll be dizzy and probably very disorientated for awhile."

"Did you think you could manage it, Wilson?"

"I don't mind, guv," Newkirk broke in.

"I know you don't, Newkirk, but we've got things to do. If we've got trouble headed our way - either from whoever shot Carter or because of our missing contact - then I want to know about it before it gets here."

Schultz's eyes went wide. "Trouble? _Colonel Hooogan_, what trouble?" he whined.

"Tell you what, Schultzie, just to say thank you for that very nice thing you did for Carter, I won't tell you."

"Oh thank you, Colonel Hogan!" Schultz exclaimed. With one last quick glance at the injured Carter, the German guard turned tail and practically ran out of the barracks.

Newkirk turned to Carter. "Oi, you 'ear that mate? When you've done getting yer beauty rest, there's work to do, so hop to!"

Carter moaned at Newkirk's suggestion and the others looked over hopefully, but he didn't wake up.

"Should 'e be perspiring like that?" Newkirk demanded of Wilson.

Wilson laid the back of his hand against Carter's cheek. "I don't think it's a fever," he said after a moment. "It's probably the pain getting to him. The poor guy is isn't gonna have much fun today, that's for sure."

Hogan nodded towards the door and the four men filed out, leaving the medic alone with his patient. Once back in the main quarters he gathered all the men around.

"As I was saying, we don't know what happened to Carter last night and we need to be prepared in case we've got trouble coming. Kinch, I want you to get on the radio and check in with all of our underground contacts. Don't spill too much about what happened, but see if you can get any info on our missing contact. Has anyone had a message from him or heard about the Gestapo picking anyone up last night? Do they know if he managed to meet Carter? Also, tell them to sniff around and see if anyone's heard anything about a shooting last night: maybe someone's bragging, or maybe they're ticked off because they didn't get their bodies. That kind of thing. I want any info they can get."

"Yes sir."

"Olsen, Davidson, same thing but in town. Make a round of all the hofbraus, restaurants, etc. Maybe even pick up a local paper or two. Just be back before evening roll call."

"Yes sir!" Olsen said with a wink for Davidson.

"And watch the booze. Nurse those beers or try some lemonade, will ya? One man out of his skull is enough for today."

"Yes, Colonel," the two men nodded contritely.

"Lebeau, get out your strudel pan. I want you to pump the guards for any info, even rumours. Start with Schultz, but also work on Meinzer and Baum - I think they had passes for last night. The rest of you play nice with the other guards today in case they've heard something."

"Oui, mon Colonel."

"Newkirk, I want you to confer with the barracks chiefs. It's a long shot, but in case we've been sold out and need to make a break for it, I want to be sure everyone has up-to-date papers and proper disguises ready to go. Tell them to tell the men to keep their ears open too; any suspicious moves on the parts of our Krauts and I want to know about it. There's too many unknowns here for my liking."

"That won't take long, Colonel. What do you want me to do after that?"

"I want you and Baker to take turns listening in on Klink's phone tap. Maybe someone will call in with a report of some kind that will give us a clue. And when you're not doing that, get some rest. That goes for all of you: Wilson will need someone to spell him eventually, so we'll do it in shifts and I want everyone alert."

"What about you, Colonel?" Kinch wanted to know.

"Don't worry, Kinch, I'm going to talk to Klink about taking Carter to the hospital for that x-ray Wilson wants, then I'll sack out on somebody's bunk out here for a bit, if no one minds. But if any of you hear something important, don't think twice about waking me. That's an order."

_--x--_

In the end, it was hardly different from any typical day at Stalag 13: each man, fuelled by ulterior motives unguessed by their captors, ran around with his own particular job to do and worked hard at trying to keep the idea that his life could burst into a dangerous uproar at any unexpected moment far in the back of his head. Only three things made this day unusual: the sounds of a man being sick in their CO's quarters, the fact that each of them completed their given tasks and yet came back with absolutely zero to report, and the one strange message Kinch brought to his commander from Dietrich Heidemann.

True to his word, after his talk with Klink, Hogan had stretched out on Lyman's bunk and this is where Kinch found him when he came up from the radio room.

Hogan rolled over at feeling of being gently shaken by the shoulder. "Wha…Kinch?"

"You wanted us to wake you."

"So I did," Hogan said, sitting up with a yawn. "What's up?"

"Nobody in the underground seems to know anything, either about the shooting or about our missing contact."

"Nobody's heard anything?"

"Afraid not."

"Damn."

"Sorry, sir. The underground promised to sniff around though, and report back at 1900. Till then, I guess we'll just have to wait and hope that Carter can tell us more when he wakes up."

"Okay," Hogan said as he pulled on his jacket and stood. "How's Carter?"

"In and out. According to Wilson he's opened his eyes a few times, however he's been too dazed and sick to really be called _awake_. But Wilson says his pupils look good, there's no fluid coming out of the ears or nose, and the nausea seems to have died down," Kinch listed while his CO poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip.

"That's good. Anything else?"

"Well, there was this strange message from Thumbelina."

"Oh?"

"He apologized for being crass, but he said that he's got Snow White on ice and asks what he should do with her before she loses her fresh bloom of youth."

Hogan rubbed his hands over his tired eyes. "Oh hell…"

"What is it, sir?"

"I forgot all about that in the confusion with Carter. Look, call back and tell him Papa Bear is hung up and could he find a secret bier for her till we can get on the horn with Mama Bear to send a Prince Charming."

Kinch stared at Hogan, puzzled. "Sir, do you need to lie down again?"

"Kinch, old buddy, let's just say that Carter didn't get the biggest chunk of poison apple last night."

* * *

_Author's note: Don't worry, I won't be playing with you much longer. The challenge will be revealed in the next chapter._ _And again, if you figure it out before that, SHHH!_ _PM me if you want to guess, but don't spoil it for others._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

A few hours later Kinch slipped into Hogan's quarters only to find himself standing silently near the door in order to watch the scene before him.

"What's with you then?" Newkirk demanded irritably a moment later when he turned to find Kinch grinning.

Kinch laughed, "I think I've heard you use every way in the book to tell Carter to shut up, and now here you are trying to get him to talk."

"What the flamin' hell's wrong with that? Special circumstances, ain't it?"

"There's nothing wrong with it. But I don't think you can get on poor Andrew's case about babbling anymore. I've been listening outside and I don't think I've heard you shut your mouth any time in the last half hour."

Newkirk bristled. "First chance I've ever 'ad to get a bloody word in."

"Geez, I didn't mean anything by it, Newkirk. You're not worried I'm gonna think you're soft or something just because you're watching out for a buddy, are you?"

Newkirk forced himself to relax. "Sorry, mate. Didn't mean nothing by it. Really."

"Don't worry about it, Peter," Kinch waved it off. "Any change?"

"I can't make it out, but he keeps muttering something over and over. Whatever it is, the poor blighter is worrying himself sick over it though. If he doesn't come to bloody soon he's going to get a sharp flipping elbow from me."

Kinch pulled up a chair, sat down and stretched out his legs. "Ah, the Jack Sharkey school of medical thought."

"Who?"

"American boxer. Gave Max Schmeling a low blow once."

"Oh."

Kinch looked over at Newkirk closely. "Look Newkirk, why don't you turn in? I'll watch Carter; it's nearly my shift anyway."

"I'll stay. What with resting in the tunnels this afternoon and the coffee and all the rest of it, I don't see that I'll get much sleep."

Kinch leaned forward and put a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "Peter," he said softly, "you understand that he's going to be all right, don't you? Wilson said it'll just take some time. There's no need for you to watch him every minute of the day."

Newkirk shrugged off the hand, his eyes returning to the man on the bunk. "It's not that, mate. It's just…it's strange, is all."

"What is?"

_Sitting at someone's bedside with nothing to do but wait,_ he wanted to say. Friends and family members had died on him of course, but in most cases he hadn't been there, or if he had, as in the case of when he'd been shot down, he'd been too busy trying to survive to spend much time dwelling on the situation. He thought about how even his mother had died alone - he'd been in Blackpool when she'd been run down. They had told him she'd wake up too.

But he wasn't ready to tell that to Kinch, so he talked about something else. "I don't know. All of this, I suppose. What I'm getting at is, I always thought I understand 'bout the danger. To my mind, it was Carter with his 'ead in the clouds, always thinking we'd be fine and everything would turn up rosy-like, but… Blimey, Kinch, I must be just as daft as he is, because this has knocked me for six. I never realized it, but I think somewhere deep down I believed we'd always be all right just the same as Carter."

"Don't beat yourself up about, Newkirk. It's the same for me and Lebeau. And it's not that crazy when you think about it. I mean, the Colonel's always pulled us through, hasn't he? Up here," and Kinch tapped his head, "we know we can't think like that - it's not smart. But hell, when we've come out of every situation up till now smelling like the proverbial roses, I guess a part of us can't help but grow cocky. Who knows? Maybe this is a wake-up call. Or a warning, telling us not to get complacent or too accustomed to success."

"You think this happened on purpose?"

Kinch shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But it doesn't mean we can't take a lesson from it either way."

" 'Spose not," Newkirk conceded, then looked at his injured friend. "Can't say as how Carter'll feel glad of being the messenger, though."

"It does seem like the poor guy's got a target painted on his back sometimes, doesn't it?"

"hmmm"

"Newkirk? You sure you're all right?"

Newkirk snorted with disgust. "Oh leave off! You're acting like I'm lingering at his bedside and holding his hand like he's some bloody Camille. I'm not breaking out the lilies, I'm keeping a chum company is all."

Kinch shrugged and raised his hands placatingly. "Okay, okay."

"Still nothing from the underground?" Newkirk asked as a way to change the subject.

"Nope. From the looks of it, both the shooter and our contact could give Amelia Earhart some disappearing lessons."

"I only 'ope they're not the same ruddy person."

"I'm with you there, Newkirk. We'll know more when Carter's awake, though."

Newkirk was about to say something else when a soft, drawn-out murmur attracted both men's attention. They pressed forward eagerly and saw Carter's eyelids flickering.

"Carter? What is it, mate?"

"I'll get the Colonel and Wilson." Kinch said.

Newkirk nodded. "Right," he agreed, barely glancing at Kinch as the other man rushed out. He turned back to Carter.

"Carter, can you hear me? Say something if you can hear me." Newkirk was relieved to see Carter's head look around at the sound of his voice; he'd secretly been worried Andrew might have been deafened by the bullet going so near his ear.

Carter's eyes opened slowly. There was a lingering heaviness to them, but they were much clearer than they had been before. "Is the kid all right?" he asked muzzily.

"What kid?"

"The Tyler kid," Carter answered, voice still thick like he was half in a dream, until panic rushed in. "I didn't hit him, did I?" He tried to lift his head as if he could catch the mysterious kid standing next to the bunk, but it was too much for him. "I swerved, I know I did! Geez, he ran right out into the road but I thought for sure I'd missed him! Where is he? Is he here? He's not hurt bad, is he?"

"Carter, calm down," Newkirk demanded, worried at the growing strain of frightened anguish running through Carter's babbling.

Carter stopped to gaze intently at Newkirk. "He's not…he's not _dead_, is he? Please tell me he's not…" He couldn't say it again.

"I don't know who you're talking about, mate, but it's only a nightmare. There's no kid anywhere round 'ere."

"No! It was one of the Tyler kids - Norton, I think. I went to town to pick up some things from Bowman's Hardware and I was driving home along Milliken road when he ran right out in front of the truck. I swerved to miss him and the truck hit a patch of ice and the last thing I remember is seeing the telephone pole."

Newkirk patted him on the shoulder. "It was just a dream, Carter."

"No! It happened, I'm sure of it! Look, you gotta find out for me. You gotta find out what happened to him, if he's okay. Please!" Carter pleaded frantically.

"All right, all right," Newkirk told him gently. "I'll make a bargain with you: I'll see about tracking this kid down, if you promise to lie quiet and rest till I do. The others will be along in a moment and Wilson'll want to give you a good looking over, then we'll see what's what. That's fair, isn't it?"

"Sure," Carter said, but he was looking at Newkirk strangely.

"Speak of the devils," Newkirk said happily when Colonel Hogan, Wilson, Kinch and Lebeau all hurried in together.

Hogan, arms crossed over his chest but with a silly grin fighting to erupt on his face, looked at his munitions man. "So, Sleeping Beauty awakes. Enjoy your nap did you, Carter?"

Only Wilson noticed the way Carter's brow furrowed and how he pulled back imperceptibly from all of them; everyone else was too happy.

"Uh…sure…I guess," the patient said.

"Okay, everybody out," Wilson said and shooed them towards the door. "I want to examine him and then he needs to get some more rest."

"But I just woke up!" the patient croaked out in complaint and struggled clumsily to raise himself. "Besides, I need someone to tell me what happened to - "

Wilson put a hand to Carter's chest and pushed him gently back down. "Nevermind about that," he told his patient firmly. "I don't want you to worry about anything. Let the others deal with it."

"But - "

"But nothing. I'm the doctor around here, or at least as close as we're going to get, so you'll follow my orders, okay?"

Carter still looked confused, but he nodded. He was growing tired again and didn't feel like arguing. After the door closed behind the others, he submitted to Wilson's instructions without another word. He obediently tracked the finger Wilson held in front of his gaze, manoeuvred a little off the bunk so that Wilson could give his pupils a look-see under the light, answered truthfully to whether he had any headaches or queasiness - "Yes, a little," to both - and was generally an easy patient. In other words, he was just like Wilson expected him to be. But there was something in his manner, something Wilson couldn't put a finger on, that was ringing a distant alarm.

"Okay, I'm going to ask you a few questions now. It's nothing to worry about, I just want to make sure you know who you are, all right?" Wilson said. "Can you tell me what your first name is?"

"Andrew."

"Do you remember where you're from?"

"Bullfrog."

"Okay, when were you born?"

"February 20th, 1917."

Wilson smiled and closed up his bag. "Well, I think you pass. The bandage looks good for now, so I think I'll wait a bit to take another look at the wound. Unless it's bothering you; does it feel all right? Not too tight? No itching or burning or anything?"

"No, it's okay," Carter said.

"That's good," Wilson assured him as he got up to leave. He was just in the midst of chalking up his unexplained worry to simple paranoia when Carter's next words chilled him.

"Hey, Mister, what is this place? Some kind of hunting lodge?"

Wilson stiffened and he stared at Carter. "What?"

"I asked you what is this place. Looks like a cabin to me. I didn't know there was any camps around this area. And why would someone bring me here? Shouldn't I be in a hospital or something?"

Wilson blinked. Then he sat back down and forced himself to smile calmly at his patient. "Carter…do you know where you are?"

"Geez, Mister," Carter said around a cavernous yawn, "If I knew, why would I be asking you? Who are you, anyway? You do the first aid around here or something? Is that what you meant when you said you were 'as close as we're going to get to a doctor?' "

"… uh, I'm Wilson… and, yeah, I guess you can say I do the first aid around here."

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Wilson," Carter said. He likely would have held out a hand, but he was fading fast. "Could you do me a favour?"

"What is it?"

"Could you call my folks?" Carter yawned again. "They're probably real worried by now. And Dad's waiting on those nails. He wanted to get the hole in the porch roof fixed before the snow hits."

"Uh…sure…of course," Wilson replied, too stunned to think.

"Thanks," Carter said and closed his eyes, completely missing the implications of Wilson's frozen look.

"Carter, before you go to sleep, could you tell me the date?"

" 's the twenty-third," Carter mumbled.

It was the twelfth. The twelfth of June. "The twenty-third of what?" Wilson asked.

"January."

"And the year?"

"1933."

Wilson's patient went to sleep as he continued to sit there staring stupidly for a few more moments. Then he walked mechanically out of Hogan's quarters to where the others were waiting around the table in the main room.

"I think we've got a problem," he said.

* * *

_Okay, it's time to raise the curtain. Dund dadda dah! The story is in response to AnotherJounin's _**"Where am I?"****challenge: ****"One of our heroes has amnesia and doesn't remember anything that happened after his sixteenth birthday. You must NOT use the phrase "Where am I?" in the fic."**_ Those of you who can do math will see that it's actually set about a month or so before Carter's sixteenth birthday, but that's only because I couldn't seem to set it on the actual day without making the situation feel too contrived. As for why I didn't reveal the challenge, there was really no good reason other than I thought that if everyone knew about the amnesia it would detract a bit from the impact of the scene. In other words, I was hoping that at least of few of you would be as surprised as Wilson. _

_I'd also like to give a special nod here to Bits and Pieces. It was her story "Forget Me Not" that got me started on this. Before that, I'd always had a slight prejudice against amnesia stories (I thought they were silly and horribly clichéd), but that tale convinced me they could be good and so the wheels started turning. Thanks Bits, I may not finish (this story is growing all out of proportion, I feel like a hawk who's dived down to snatch up what she thinks is a long grey snake and found out it's attached to the backside of an elephant) but I've had a lot of fun writing so far!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

"_Are you serious?" _

"Sir, I know how it sounds - "

"Oh do us a favour, Wilson! Amnesia? That's only in the bleeding pictures!"

"I'm not making this up, Newkirk!" Wilson snapped.

"But _amnesia? _Wilson, this has got to be a joke," Hogan said.

"I'm telling you Colonel," the medic explained, "whatever is going through Carter's mind, he thinks it's January, 1933."

"But the way you made it out, it were nothing more than cut on the head," Newkirk accused. "You don't go and forget eleven years of yer bloomin' life because of a cut!"

"I didn't say it was nothing but a cut! All I said was that he didn't seem to have a skull fracture _from what I could tell,_" Wilson retorted, emphasizing the last part rather pointedly. "But it still likely would've felt like a helluva knock. And let's not forget how hard he would've hit the back of his head on the road when he fell. I didn't feel any fracture there, but he still could've got a bad concussion that way!"

"All right, that's enough," Hogan broke in. "What's happened to Carter is hardly Wilson's fault. And whoever's fault it is, it doesn't matter much at this point anyway."

Wilson looked on as Hogan started to pace the floor by the stove, with the three wide-eyed men sitting at the table alternating glances between the two as all waited to hear what their CO would say next. Hogan stopped and shook his head ruefully. "_Only Carter_," he said. "So what do we do now, Wilson?"

"You're asking me? Colonel, I'm used to patching up bumps and scrapes; I've seen a few concussions with guys who got hurt when their plane came down, but nothing like this! This is way over my head."

"Maybe it's not so bad as what we think," Newkirk suggested. "Could be it's not the same thing as proper amnesia. You see it in the films and the bloke's always completely fogged, isn't he? You know, waking up and asking who 'e is and what's 'appened, that sort of thing. Perhaps that means this is something different altogether."

"Like what?" Hogan asked.

"I don't know, guv. But blimey, amnesia? It don't seem real!"

Wilson poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down next to Kinch. "Look before we start confusing things any further, how about we all agree we can't take our cue from Hollywood when it comes to diagnosing someone."

"So I'll ask again: Wilson, what can we do?" Hogan demanded.

"First, I think we should wait until he wakes up. Maybe it'll cure itself after a bit more rest. If not, then the only thing I can suggest is to get in touch with London and have them drop in a specialist."

"That could take days. We need him back _now_. We need to know what happened out there last night - there's a man out there with potentially vital information, not to mention someone who may have shot Carter because he knows about the operation."

"Well, I'm sorry Colonel, but what can I do? I can't wave a magic wand and make him all better, or whack his memory back into place with a baseball bat."

"Of course not. I'm sorry, Wilson," Hogan said with a pat on the medic's shoulder. "And I'm sorry if it seems like I'm more worried about what might happen than about Carter himself, but that's the job, you know?"

"Do not worry, mon Colonel," Lebeau told him, "we understand."

"You still haven't heard anything from the underground?" Wilson asked.

"Nothing," Kinch sighed. "All we know is what Mother Hubbard originally told us, and that's not much."

"Why'd you risk meeting going out to meet this guy then?"

Hogan answered, "Because there's supposedly some evidence this man worked for the Heereswaffenamt in Berlin."

"The what?"

"German Army Ordnance," Kinch translated. "One of the many departments Hitler's got set up for weapons development."

Hogan sat down wearily at his spot at the head of the table. "What worries me," he said, "is that the rumours that this guy was disaffected with how things were being run are pretty common knowledge."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Wilson asked.

"Not if the Germans know it too. I'm concerned our contact was either a plant or a dupe being fed misinformation in order to trap us," Colonel Hogan explained. "But in any case, we've got something more immediate to deal with, don't we? If Carter's isn't back to normal when he wakes up, just what in the hell are we going to tell him?"

"Well, we know for sure he wouldn't know about the war," Wilson said.

Kinch whistled. "Holy cow!" he said, "Where do we even start? January of '33... Heck, old bubblebrain hadn't taken power yet. Carter might not even know who we're talking about!"

"I think we should ask him about last night," Lebeau said.

"What good would that do? If 'e don't remember the whole bleedin' war, 'ow's he going to remember last night?"

"He might if we tell him what we know first," Lebeau argued. "Perhaps it will jog his memory. And then we can ask about the contact."

"I don't know, Lebeau," Wilson argued. "It might be easier on him if he was eased into all of this before we going telling him he was shot. He's gonna be pretty overwhelmed as it is."

"Rubbish," Newkirk said. "He should 'ear it from us. What if we don't tell 'im and the memory starts coming back on it's own as a nightmare or something like it? More frightening that way than 'earing it from 'is friends."

"Newkirk, he's not going to know who we are," Kinch pointed out. The entire table went silent at that.

"Wilson," Hogan began after a few moments, "Do you think there's any chance Lebeau's right? That if we describe what happened to him last night, that Carter's memory might come back?"

Wilson shrugged. "I really couldn't tell you, Colonel. It sounds reasonable, but I don't know… I mean, _eleven years_… that's a long time to forget. That's not just like taking a blow and not remembering it because of the pain. You gotta figure forgetting eleven years means something more serious, don't you."

"How do you think he'll react?"

"Panicked, I would guess. How would you feel if someone told you you'd lost eleven years of your life?"

"Panicked enough that he wouldn't want to believe it? Or wouldn't trust us?"

"It's possible, Colonel," Wilson told him.

Hogan thought about it. "Okay, here's what we're going to do: we'll tell Carter about the war - we have to tell him why he's in a prison camp and why he's got to be careful around the Krauts - but unless the situation looks better in the morning, we're not going to tell him about last night just yet. When he asks how he was injured - "

"He might not," Wilson put in. "From what Newkirk said, his last memory seems to be of some kind of road accident. Maybe he'll just assume that it was that."

"But once we tell him the year, he'll figure out that it can't be that," Kinch said.

Wilson nodded. "Sorry, right."

"Anyway," Hogan went on, a touch exasperated at being interrupted. "When he asks how he was injured, we'll give him the same story we gave Klink - he hit his head on the stove when he fell off the table while changing a light bulb."

"What? But guv, if we don't tell him the truth, how's he ever to get his memory back? He's not going to remember that night if we're feeding 'im nothing but lies about what little we do know! And you were saying not five minutes ago about 'ow we need to find out about that missing contact!"

"I know Newkirk, but if he's panicked he might blurt something out around one of the Krauts without thinking. Or maybe he'd even go to them because he wouldn't believe what we tell him about them. And, if he knows about the tunnels, he might even try to make a break for it and how far would he get before the Krauts got him? Can you imagine him going through a Gestapo interrogation in this condition? I want Carter's memory to come back too, but until we can be sure of what state he's in, we can't take the chance. That means we're not going to tell him anything about the operation. Till I say different, all Carter will know is that we're all nothing but regular prisoners of war."

"Mon Colonel, what about when he comes to sleep in his own bunk? How will we use the tunnel entrance?"

Hogan looked meaningfully at Wilson.

"I can order bed rest for another day, maybe two if we're lucky, but he'll still have to go out to use the latrines."

"That's all right, we can work around that," Hogan said with assurance.

"I still say it's wrong, guv. If not knowing about the contact or the shooter is putting the camp in danger, then wouldn't Andrew's getting his memory back quick-like be more of an 'elp than anything?"

"I get what you're saying Newkirk, and if he remembered right away that'd tell us about the contact, not to mention save us a lot of explaining about the war and the last decade into the bargain. But if he didn't remember then he wouldn't understand what we were telling him, would he? And I've got to think of the risk to whole camp, not to mention the underground; one slip-up on Carter's part and we'd be in a lot of trouble."

"That's true at any time. Once we tell Andrew why 'e has to keep quiet, how's that make 'im any bigger a liability than 'e usually is?"

"Because he's going to have to lot to deal with right now Peter, and that could make him more forgetful of watching himself than usual," Hogan explained.

Newkirk didn't say anything, he just looked at his commanding officer. He knew Hogan was making sense, but he couldn't shake the feeling that hiding the truth was going to blow up in their faces.

"Look," Hogan went on, "I admit it's a gamble either way, so when Carter wakes up again we'll just have to feel our way forward, okay Newkirk?"

Newkirk sighed. "All right, guv. I'll keep quiet about last night till you give the word."

Hogan nodded his thanks and slapped Newkirk once on the shoulder. He understood Newkirk's reluctance and appreciated that the Englishman respected him enough to stop pushing the issue.

_Now, let's just hope I'm right_, he thought silently to himself. It didn't help when a little while later the tunnel opened up to reveal an empty-handed Olsen and Davidson come back for evening roll call.

Where did they go from here?

_--x--_

Carter had slept through straight until morning. Lebeau's theories aside, he'd even slept through Schultz's wake-up bellowing of 'Roll-call!' The pain of his injury and the draining effects of being sick several times the day before had exhausted him, and only the welcome smells of breakfast and the stronger light peeping under the crack of the shutters in Hogan's quarters finally set him to stirring.

Food had come first. Figuring he deserved to eat at least one meal in piece before they dropped the bomb on him and started the interrogation, they helped him to sit up and then waited impatiently while he gobbled down two stolen eggs. There was also a slice of plain pumperknickel toast, at which Carter's slightly puzzled look caused them to lean forward half eager and half dreading whatever question was going to come out, but all Carter asked was, "You got any butter?"

"Sorry," Hogan said.

"That's okay," Carter shrugged happily. "It's nice of all of you to give me this much," he said, though the expression on his face after a sip of the ersatz coffee a second later made it look like he was reconsidering it.

But now that he was done and the plate had been taken away, they were left with an awkward silence where they were staring at him as he fidgeted nervously looking at them.

Wilson finally caught Hogan's eye. "Maybe you could…you know," he said, nodding towards the man on the bunk. To his surprise, he saw his CO's mouth twisting strangely. He stepped close to Hogan and whispered, "Colonel?"

Hogan turned his head and whispered back, "Sorry Wilson," and the medic realized that the man was trying very hard not to laugh. "It's just the idea of introducing myself…"

"Yes sir," Wilson said with understanding. The entire situation was incredibly bizarre - how _were_ you supposed to introduce yourself to someone you'd lived with for two years? "Maybe you could start of with something simpler," he suggested. Hogan nodded and turned back to Carter.

"We haven't be able to get a hold of your folks, I'm afraid."

Carter relaxed. "I was wondering, boy. I mean, if they knew I'd been in an accident they'd have been here in a flash. I got kind of worried when I didn't see them here. But what's the problem? The lines down at Hurley's store again?"

"Excuse me?" Hogan asked, suddenly feeling that impulsive need to stop the conversation for reasons of sheer self-preservation that he sometimes got when Carter took off on a real ramble.

"Oh, I guess you must be new around here. No one's got phones in these parts, mister. Only Fred Hurley at the general store. You gotta call him and then he sends one of his kids out with the message. I thought everybody knew that."

"No. No, I didn't know that, but that's not the problem," Hogan said as he sat down at the end of the bunk.

Carter's eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. They'd noticed a few wondering looks directed their way since they'd come into the room, especially when he first realized all five of them planned on watching him eat, but no fear before now. No recognition either, but no fear.

"Look, what's going on?" he asked. "What is this place? Why can't my folks be here? And who are all of you?"

"You really don't know?" Lebeau asked.

"No. Am I supposed to?"

"Oui," Lebeau said without thinking. Carter's eyes widened and he laughed.

"Boy, you're _really_ not from around here, are you mister?" he said.

_Your accent_, Hogan mouthed at Lebeau's confused expression. Lebeau rolled his eyes.

Carter noticed that. "Oh hey, I didn't mean it as an insult or anything," he blurted out hurriedly. "I guess you could be from around here anyway. I mean, what's stopping ya, right? It's just that we don't even get many people from out-of-state coming to town, let alone anyone from another country - "

"It is all right, Carter," Lebeau interrupted. "I understand."

"Okay," Carter grinned, his suspicion from a moment ago seemingly forgotten in his relief at not offending the unknown Frenchman. Then he alarmed them all by swinging his legs off the bunk.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Wilson ordered. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Are ya crazy, mister? I'm gonna go home." He stood before they could stop him, then suddenly swayed. Hogan's hand shot out and caught Carter's arm just in time to keep the younger man from falling face first into the corner of his footlocker.

"Whuh…" Carter huffed as Hogan got him to sit down again. "Geez, I feel dizzy."

"You haven't gone half pale as well, you silly sod," Newkirk told him. "You do what Wilson tells you to."

Carter's head lolled drunkenly in the direction of this new voice and he squinted up at Newkirk. "You were here before, weren't you?"

"You remember that?" Newkirk demanded eagerly.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I?"

Newkirk stepped forward a few paces so that he was more in Carter's sightline. "But you don't remember me from before that?" he asked.

"Sorry, mister," Carter answered and five pairs of shoulders slumped. "I never laid eyes on you in my life. Before yesterday, I mean."

But Newkirk didn't want to give up. "Oh, c'mon Andrew old mate. You must remember us; we're your old chums."

Carter looked to Hogan for help. "Uh…I think you must be mistaking me for someone else," he said, when he got no direction from that quarter.

"Don't be daft - "

_"Daft?"_ they saw Carter mutter to himself, puzzling over the unfamiliar word.

Newkirk rolled his eyes much as Lebeau had done, but altered the phrase. "What I meant was, don't be silly, mate. If we were mistaking you for someone else, we wouldn't be using _your_ name, now would we?"

"Uh, well, I guess not…" Carter conceded, but he drew back a little, unconsciously worried at where this was going.

Newkirk didn't notice. Squatting down on his heels so that he was more level with Carter, he locked his gaze on the other man's face. "So now, take a good look and try to think, Carter," he urged.

"Mister, I don't want to - "

"Please try, Carter," Hogan asked softly.

"You can do it, Carter. It's Peter New - " Newkirk prompted.

Carter looked at him.

"_New_ - " Newkirk repeated, gesturing for Carter to jump in. "_New_ - "

"Newbolt?" Carter answered, suddenly excited. "Hey, is that it? Are you related to Wilf Newbolt over at Flat Creek?"

"No," Newkirk said sadly and straightened up. "No, mate, it's New_kirk_. Peter Newkirk. You sure that isn't ringing any bells?"

Carter shook his head.

Hogan put a comforting hand on his demolition man's back. "It's okay, Carter. Truth be told, we were kind of expecting that."

"Hey look now, what is this? Who are all of you and how come you all know my name? Why aren't my folks here? And why's nobody told me about the Tyler kid yet?"

"Take it easy, Carter," Hogan said. "The whole reason we're here is to tell you all about that."

"Then what's the hold up?" Carter demanded. He waved a hand in Newkirk's direction. "And what's with all this 'guess who' stuff?"

"You know Newkirk. In fact, you know all of us," Hogan explained. "We were hoping if you could remember us, then you'd remember everything."

"Remember you? All right, what's the gag?"

"There's no gag, Carter. We're not joking. You know us and you have for about two years now."

Carter moved back from Hogan, awkwardly edging towards the wall. "Look, I don't know what this is, but I've never seen any of you before in my life. I just wanna find out what happened to the Tyler kid, and then go home, okay?"

"It's not as easy as all that, Carter," Hogan said.

"What are you talking about? I don't understand why you can't just call my folks. Or my uncle Sam and aunt Bessie in Crab Apple Junction; their neighbours the Evanses have a phone. They'll take me home," Carter pleaded, and the sound of the tired and growing desperation in his voice banished whatever urge Hogan had had to smile before. The situation might be bizarre and inconvenient for them, but for Carter…

He decided to try a different tack. He held out his hand. "Well, if you don't know us, maybe introductions are in order then. My name is Robert Hogan and I'm very pleased to meet you."


End file.
